


The Freak and the Maniac

by Laur



Series: Paintball [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John, Gen, Humour, Paintball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I had known you were such a badass, I wouldn’t have invited you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Freak and the Maniac

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little idea that popped into my head.

“This,” Sally grumbled, “was a horrible idea.” 

“Shut up!” Greg hissed. He and Sally had their backs to a wall, their breathing slightly laboured, trying to stay silent so the man around the corner wouldn’t find them. Greg’s heart was hammering in his chest and adrenaline had his senses on high alert. He listened intently but could no longer hear the muffled shuffling of boots on soil. Taking a deep breath, he edged closer to the corner, his gun gripped tightly in his hands, and quickly peeked around it. 

“He’s gone,” he informed Sally. She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed from her tense position as Greg approached the footprints left in the dry dirt. 

_BANG_

Greg whirled around in time to see red splatter across Sally’s chest. “ _Shit!_ ” 

_BANG_

Something hit him hard in the chest, right over the heart, and he could feel wetness on his neck. 

  


John was in military mode. He didn’t want to be – it reminded him of entirely too painful memories – but given the situation, it was unavoidable. If he was honest with himself, he shouldn’t have come at all, seeing as he’d predicted that this would trigger memories of Afghanistan. But what could he say? He was an adrenaline junky and he knew it. 

Crouched low to the ground to present a smaller target, he gripped his gun in front of him with both hands and hurried along a wall. He could hear whispers up ahead. Staying completely silent, he crept towards the mildly panicked voices and smirked slightly. Jumping suddenly around the wall separating him from the voices, he found three targets. He shot two in the chest but then had to dive and roll to avoid the projectile of the third. 

“What the–” the third exclaimed at John’s acrobatics. As he was speaking John stood up effortlessly straight out of the summersault and shot him in the chest as well. 

  


Sherlock had initially refused to come. He thought the whole thing was childish and an utterly ridiculous waste of time and energy. However, when John had declared that he would go without him or not, he had reconsidered. This was, after all, an excellent opportunity to observe John in his natural environment, as it were, something that he didn’t typically share with Sherlock. John’s military past was still something of a secret to him, despite their having lived together for several months. So Sherlock had grudgingly agreed to tag along, deciding to consider it an experiment of sorts. 

Crouched on top of a little hideout shack, despite being told that climbing on the equipment was _strictly prohibited_ , he was able to study the scurrying of people around him, like mice stuck in a maze. There was one figure, however, that was very distinctly _not_ scurrying, but rather _stalking_. Sherlock might not typically enjoy the company of others and seemed to look down upon and scoff at people in general, but observing the social dynamics of the game below him was truly captivating. As soon as the countdown had begun, Sherlock had sought out this perch as the perfect vantage point, and so had been able to see the exact moment his friend had stopped being John-his-flatmate-and-kindly-doctor and had become John-the-silent-and-deadly-soldier. The game was supposed to be everyone for themselves, but as it had become quickly apparent that John was picking off everyone one at a time and evading every shot aimed at him, the rest of the players had begun teaming up against him. It wasn’t even a conscious decision really, Sherlock realized, simply a survival instinct. Regardless of their strategy, John was not perturbed nor impeded in his domination. In addition to being a deadly accurate shot, he was quick, silent and had quite the knack for avoiding projectiles. In fact, he was so skilled at dodging and diving that it made Sherlock wonder what the circumstances had been that had gotten John shot in Afghanistan. Obviously the weapons used in war were built to shoot much faster, but still, it was something to ponder. 

John was now close to Sherlock’s hiding spot and Sherlock decided to do another experiment. This John, in battle mode, was not the John he knew, and he wondered how far detached he was from normal John. Despite his usually predictable nature, John had the ability to, from time to time, surprise Sherlock, something that Sherlock found profoundly interesting. So, carefully and quietly jumping off the roof of the shack when John’s back was turned, he quickly aimed for his flatmate, several meters away, and fired. At the sound, John twisted sideways and leaned forward incredibly quickly, deftly avoiding the projectile. He then spun around, gun ready, to face his shooter. Sherlock had predicted that John would hesitate to shoot someone as familiar as his flatmate, but when John’s eyes locked onto his, Sherlock saw no recognition, just blazing focus and energy. Sherlock’s chest tightened with instinctual fear at the gaze of a killer locked on him. John fired and Sherlock was hit just to the left of the target painted in the middle of his vest. 

  


When John was the last one standing with three minutes still on the clock, a voice over the speaker phones declared the game was over and that player 5 was the victor. Exiting the arena, John was greeted by seven very disgruntled-looking police officers and one very amused-looking consulting detective, all of whom were covered in red paint. 

John smiled sheepishly. “Hi. So… That was quite the game, wasn’t it?” 

Greg looked like he couldn’t decide whether to feel annoyed or awed. “If I had known you were such a badass, I wouldn’t have invited you.” 

Sherlock actually barked a laugh at that. “He was a soldier, what were you expecting?” 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to have all our arses handed to us, was I.” 

Sherlock laughed again – was that pride in his eyes as he looked at John? – and Greg smirked. Sally grumbled something about “a freak _and_ a maniac”, which brought a huge grin to John’s face, probably not the desired effect. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, fortunately for you, we’re on your side.” 

“Amen to that,” one of the officers mumbled and had everyone laughing. 

  


On the cab ride home, John noticed Sherlock absently rubbing his chest, where he would no doubt have a nice bruise later, and John grimaced. “Sorry for shooting you.” 

“Hm? Ah, well, I shot at you first, didn’t I? Only fair.” Sherlock said absently. 

Still feeling vaguely guilty, John turned to look out his window again when Sherlock continued. 

“I had no idea you were so efficient at dispatching opponents. I already knew, of course, that you have very accurate aim, but the dexterity you demonstrated today with evasion and shooting was quite impressive,” he said matter-of-factly. Though he would never admit it, it had been a little scary as well. 

John knew Sherlock was stating the facts of his observations and not trying to compliment him, but John couldn’t help the happy flush it brought to his cheeks. “Well, now you can rest assured that you have an efficient and dexterous maniac to back you up when you’re too busy being an idiot genius to take care of yourself,” he said jokingly. 

Sherlock snorted and turned away, so John wouldn’t see the pleased smile that broke across his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! What did you think? Comments are always appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr! http://notesoflore.tumblr.com/


End file.
